


Profitable

by TheRavenintheMoon



Series: Long Lost Souls [16]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen, Stranglethorn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 02:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRavenintheMoon/pseuds/TheRavenintheMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When one goblin thinks she may be in over her head, she does what she does best: improvise. For maximum profit, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Profitable

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I probably own nothing, except maybe my characters. I know that Blizzard, however, owns a small chunk of my soul...

**_Profitable_  
**

**_Iffigenia_ **

 

            _Welcome to the jungle, boys and girls. It’s dark, it’s gloomy, and the inhabitants sure aren’t friendly. But if you can make your way through here and win out with something left over, well, you’ve got it made, pal. Boy, have you got it made._

 

            “Creepin’ through the jungle,” Iffigenia hummed softly to herself, the sound nearly swallowed by the thick, damp underbrush. “The iron jungle…” She flinched, freezing for a moment as a twig snapped behind her. Slowly, she glanced around, her head ducked between her shoulders, but there was nothing in the brush at her back. There was nothing on the road just to her right either.

            “Take what others bungle,” she hummed even more softly, once again moving forward at a cautious bounce. “And make a mint!” She winced again, this time at herself. She _knew_ that last note had not been anywhere near the correct note. Goblin songs were not really known for being easily sung; they were known for inventive lyrics dropped into popular music borrowed from other cultures. This particular Drudgetown anthem was no different, except, perhaps, that it was so popular it no longer followed one specific tune. Geni grinned, fondly remembering winning bets on the fights that broke out between goblins who swore the tune went one way or the other.

            Another twig snapped, much closer, and Geni dragged her mind out of the dirty, homey streets of Kezan. Her survival instincts kicked in, and, with a fearful glance at the seemingly empty dip beneath her, she ducked under a broad-leafed fern, wrapping herself up so only her shadowed purple eyes and tilted, sea-green nose were visible. She carefully brushed back a blue curl, wondering when that had fallen out of her perfect pigtails. Then she settled into stillness. Hardly daring to breathe, she shifted her eyes, searching for the twig-snapper.

 

            _There’s some things you kids need to know before I let you wander off. I know, I know. You’ve got better things to do than listen to your betters. Still, rather safe than sorry. Now, the first rule of the jungle is this: Take what you want. The second rule is this: Never leave anything behind. You never know what could come in handy. And odds are, by the time you realize you need that super-extendable, blast-o string that seemed so useless, someone else has already made off with it. You can be sure of that!_

 

            There, right before Geni’s widening eyes, was the biggest panther she had ever seen. (It may have been more accurate to say that this was the _only_ panther Geni had ever seen, since she hadn’t even begun to explore this new, green jungle, but no one ever started a sales pitch like that, and she had to keep in practice.) The panther moved with deliberate slowness, belly to the ground, big paws pressing down as softly as shadows as it stole forward. Already, Geni’s sharp mind had launched into cataloguing the big cat’s value, wondering how much she could get for those wicked, sharp claws, for the lean flanks, for the strong bones, for that soft, black velvet fur… Behind eyes wide with greed, the numbers really began to add up.

            The panther paused, just in front of Geni’s convenient ferny hiding place, so close she could have reached out to pull its gently waving tail. It seemed to be searching for a lost scent. Geni wondered what it had been stalking ( _creepin’ through the jungle…_ her mind nervously hummed), and her calculating eyes narrowed as her quick mind began to tally up the mana cost of attacking it, and her chances of success. If that twig hadn’t snapped, and she hadn’t ducked into this fragrant fern so quickly, she knew she would be dead, sharp claws hooked in her unprotected back, dragged off for some later meal… She shivered. She was beginning to think that if everything in this jungle was this big and this quiet, she had no business being here. Already, she was gauging the distance to the road, wondering how far it was to Booty Bay, and a ride out of this dangerous heat.

            To her left, another twig snapped.

 

            _Rule three now—and this is the last one, you fidgeting losers, so stand still—rule three is simple: If you can’t handle the smell, get out of the gutter. Any shop in Swindle Street will take you on for drudge work, and they’ll pay you next to nothing. Sure, job security’s great, they say. A penny salary is better than no salary at all, right, kids? Bah, I say. And so should you!_

 

            Before Geni had time to do more than lift a hand to her throat, checking that it was still intact, a black-haired, mail-clad gnome half a head shorter than the goblin burst out of the undergrowth with a (rather squeaky, Geni sniffed) battle cry. A couple swings of the two huge swords later, and the panther lay dead on the jungle floor, a puddle of shadow against the greenery. Geni dropped from her crouch back onto her bum in a rustle of leaves, crossing her arms with a grumpy huff. _That was_ my _cat_ , she thought venomously to herself, the dancing golden numbers in her head crashing down to zero.

            Before she could work herself up to a big, proper, I’ve-just-been-cheated temper tantrum, the gnome gave a whoop and charged off after another panther further down the dip in the ground that fell away from the plant-lined border of the road where Geni was hiding. Baffled, she stood up for a better view, watching as the gnome warrior took out every panther in the dip beneath the goblin’s feet. When there was no movement in the dip except the gnome pausing to look at even bigger panther tracks, Geni sat back down, her mind once again buzzing with possibilities. That idiotic gnome was going to walk away from all those pelts—a sharp grin crossed Geni’s pointed face as she began calculating just how much she could carry.

            And the gnome did (shockingly, to Geni’s greedy, goblin mind), vanish, rushing off to, well, whatever. She could not have cared less, so long as the gnome left all those cats on the jungle floor. The goblin slipped down into the dip at a fast trot, hoping no one else came along, drawing her skinning knife as she went. This was better than she could ever have imagined when she first saw that cat: no personal risk, no investors claiming the biggest share of the loot… Oh, yes. “Creepin’ through the jungle,” she began to hum again as she deftly removed the best bits from the cats. “The hot, green jungle, take what others bungle, make pure profit!”

 

            _No goblin in his or her right mind would choose to slave away for someone else’s profit. Now I know this, because once I was standing where you are now, and I know it’s tough. Just because you’ve got an idea, doesn’t mean anyone else wants that banana nut smoothie in a cup that doubles as a souvenir rocket pack. But if you’re gonna slave away for nearly no personal gain, you might as well be slaving for your own ambition._

_Now get out there, kids, go conquer the jungle, and maybe one day, you’ll be the one standing up here making boring speeches. Or better yet, you’ll make enough money to hire someone else to do it for you!_

_—From a speech given by Iffigenia to KTC interns, KTC Headquarters, Kezan_


End file.
